


The Future's in Our Hands

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bathtubs, Cooking, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Louis loves a good idea, a good invention. He's always ready to try out the next project. His husband would maybe just like him to wait until morning.





	The Future's in Our Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge. We each select random numbers and are given a specific emotion from the book 1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names. To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works), or you can find the masterpost on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).

  1. _The Panic that someone else might have gotten this brilliant idea long ago and soon it'll make him rich_



 

Louis splashes the water in the bath back and forth, creating tiny tidal waves that rock gently against the sides like he’s a ship coming into harbour.

It’s nearly three in the morning, and the only window in the room has a startlingly clear view of the moon, shining bright against the nearly black sky above. Louis stifles a yawn, his hands pruney when he pulls them above the water. 

A knock comes at the bathroom door, and louis can hear Harry’s long, deep yawn on the other side.

“Loouu,” Harry calls, and Louis can perfectly imagine Harry on the other side of the door. His sleep-closed eyes and the way he always hangs his head forward when he’s tired as if it’s just too heavy to hold up.

“Yeah babe,” Louis calls back, watching his toes appear right above the water line as his homemade waves lap gently against the sides of the tub. “Door’s unlocked.”

He sees the knob turn and then there’s Harry, stumbling in wearing only his pyjama bottoms. His eyes are scrunched closed against the harsh lighting and with a grumble he reaches one hand up blindly and searches around until he finds the switch, throwing the room into near darkness. The glow of Louis’s open laptop perched on the closed lid of the toilet gives the only illumination, throwing the room into eerie blue light.

“Why’re y’ in th’ bath?” Harry mumbles. “Lou, ‘s 3 a.m.”

“The bath is the best time to think, Harold,” Louis tells him. Harry makes some disgruntled noise of protest and shuffles over to the edge of the tub, collapsing onto the rug and resting his face in his arms atop the tub wall.

“Aww, is Hazza tired?” Louis chides. Harry mumbles something at him and Louis laughs. He pets Harry’s hair, one wet hand sliding through his short, messy curls. “Were you asleep, baby?” he asks.

Harry nods, not moving his head up even as water from Louis’s fingers trickles down Harry’s hair and onto his shoulders.

“Did I wake you up?” Louis asks, a soft smile growing on his face.

“W’s cold,” Harry mumbles.

“Poor Hazzy,” Louis laughs. His laptop finally shuts down into sleep mode, throwing the room into a darkness only illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window. It’s serene, in a sort of odd way. Louis thinks there’s no way Harry’s comfortable like this though, sprawled out on the tile of the bathroom floor the way he is.

Still, Louis knows Harry’s greatest weakness (or at least one of his top five) is having his hair played with. So he keeps at it, tugging softly with his drying fingers at the baby soft curls.

“Hazza,” Louis eventually says. “You should really sleep, babe.”

Harry shifts, raising his head so that his half-lidded eyes meet Louis’s. “So should you,” he says, voice deep and slow. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m providing for this family,” Louis says. “I’m working on something that will make us rich.”

Harry snorts and Louis thinks if Harry was more awake he would be rolling his eyes and saying something vaguely witty. As it is though, Harry grabs Louis’s hand - the dry one that’s been stroking his hair - and presses a light kiss to his knuckles before rising with a groan - his pyjama bottoms sitting sinfully low on his hips - and staggering back toward their room.

Louis doesn’t blame him - honestly, he would do the exact same thing in Harry’s position. After all, this isn’t the first time Louis has lost sleep over a project he’s convinced is going to move them from this small flat to a cottage in the Cotswolds. Unlikely maybe, but Louis’s mum always says if you’re not dreaming big you’re not working hard enough.

He turns back and reaches out with his dry hand to turn his computer back on. The toilet is, conveniently, so close to the bath in this tiny little bathroom that it’s become a sort of normal thing, taking a bath while he browses the internet, watches Saturday Night Live sketches, or just  _ thinks, _ like he’s doing tonight.

His plan is a masterful one, he’s sure of that. It’s an idea that occurred to him in the night, and he’s sure that this is the one. This is the genius thought that has finally struck him. All those years of coding and low-end computer security jobs have finally paid off, and he knows exactly what the world needs.

So without further ado, with the light still off because he can’t be arsed to get out of the water and turn it back on, he dries his other hand on the tea towel he’s brought with him (always have a tea towel, his mum often says, you never know when you’ll need it), and he opens up a new  _ CotEditor _ window. It’s time for his genius to flourish.

— 

The next morning, Louis is at the table with breakfast already when Harry comes downstairs. He’s got his laptop in front of him again, and a cup of milk and bowl of Coco Pops next to him. Harry lets out a massive yawn that stretches his face and Louis gets an odd impression that Harry could look like a member of the Stones. In another life, maybe.

“Louis,” Harry says, giving him a stern look, “You never came to bed.”

“I did, technically,” Louis says. “I definitely gave you your goodnight kiss. Only you were already asleep. I also had to plug in my phone. Should still be up there, under the pillow. That’s proof, you know.”

Harry shakes his head and walks past him into the kitchen. Louis heard the sound of the tap running, probably filling up the kettle for tea. When he returns it’s with the tupperware from the refrigerator of leftover brussel sprouts. Louis wrinkles his nose- they absolutely  _ stink. _

“That doesn’t count,” Harry says. “I can tell when you’re up all night. The bed doesn’t smell like you when I wake up.”

“Yeah, I don’t leave my bad breath on everything this way,” Louis says. He takes a spoonful of the Coco Pops and dips it into the mug of milk before popping it in his mouth. “Sorry Haz, I will tonight. Just didn’t want to stop in the middle of something.”

“In the middle of what?” Harry asks. He slides over to try to get a look at Louis’s computer, but Louis closes the screen too fast. Harry pouts at him.

“It’s a surprise!” Louis tells him, pouting right back. Two can play at that game. “I’ll have the bare bones done with it by the time you get home, I think.”

Harry sticks his bottom lip out farther. “You didn’t keep me warm last night and now you won’t even tell me about your great inspiration? I’m starting to think this marriage is a sham, Tomlinson.”

“That’s Tomlinson- _ Styles _ to you,” Louis tells him, and leans over to plant a kiss on his nose. “Don’t worry, it’ll totally be worth it this time. And if you see Niall at work, tell him I want my headphones back. He borrowed my nice ones last week for some weird golf meditation thing but earbuds hurt my ears.”

Harry swallows two brussel sprouts in close succession. “Will do,” he says. “Also, I’m terribly late because your grumbling is normally what wakes me up on time.” He goes in for a kiss that Louis steadfastly avoids.

“Sprout breath,” Louis grumbles, sticking out his tongue. “Keep away!”

Harry grabs both sides of Louis’s face and forces a kiss on his mouth that leaves Louis gagging. “Love you,” he says with a horrible, lopsided grin that Louis absolutely despises because Harry is a Bad Breath Brussel Sprout Fiend.

“Dinner’s at six!” He calls as Harry grabs his keys and heads out the door. “Love you too, but chew some gum!”

Once he hears the lock click behind Harry, Louis opens up his computer again. He takes another spoonful of Coco Pops and dips them in the milk, and then gets back to work.

— 

Louis ends up falling asleep somewhere around two in the afternoon, which is pretty good as far as his all-nighters are concerned. When he wakes up somewhere around an hour later he jolts awake and feels his cheek unstick from the keyboard keys he’s fallen asleep on.

His screen is just rows and rows of C’s, which is rather unfortunate, but at least he didn’t accidentally close out of the program. Louis lets out a squeak when it suddenly occurs to him that he’s  _ never saved his work _ and he hurries to do so, lest his computer decides to shut down or spontaneously combust at any moment.

That done, he shuts his laptop. He’ll delete the pages of C’s later. Too much coding can stifle the creative genius, you know, and Louis would hate to do that. It’s also why he doesn’t eat plums and only brushes his teeth in the shower. 

— 

Louis hears the jingle of keys when Harry arrives home, and the subsequent banging of the door as it sticks a little when Harry tries to open it.

“That smells amazing,” he hears Harry call. The house is full of the smell of garlic, and Louis’s honestly been salivating since he started cooking.

“New recipe! Garlic chicken!” he calls back as he hears Harry thumping about, likely trying to get off his boots without unzipping them first. As always.

He knows Harry has arrived in the dining room when an uncertain voice calls, “Lou…?”

“Dinner’s ready in five!” Louis replies, trying to keep the smile out of his voice.

“Lou…”

“Go get changed so you don’t get your work shirt dirty!”

“Louis William, what have you done?”

Louis can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him now, putting down the spoon that he’s been using to move the chicken about and keep it from burning. He moves over to the doorway into the dining room so that he has a clear view of Harry.

A clear view of Harry surveying the  _ mountains _ of cookbooks stacked on the dining room table.

As it is, the dining room is the size of a large closet rather than a small room. Louis has considered that perhaps it was meant to be a pantry, but whatever it was supposed to be, they’ve managed to jam a table and chairs into the space (as well as two wonderful framed paintings from Ernest and Doris - a “bird tree” and a “cat cloud” according to their creators).

“Did you know the library is within walking distance?” Louis asks, trying to keep a straight face.

Harry gapes at him.

“It’s true! I looked it up on Google Maps. We should go there more.”

“Did you take a wagon with you?” Harry asks. “These stacks are taller than you are!”

“Details,” Louis dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, found a great recipe for garlic chicken.”

“So you said,” Harry says, pushing one pile of books up against another so that a corner of the table is able to be set. “I’m going to go change. Then we’re going to talk about my fear of late fees.”

“Noted,” Louis says, choosing not to mention that he maxed out his book limit on his own library card and proceeded to use Harry’s for the second half of the stacks.

—

When Harry reappears sporting a comfy old tee shirt, Louis has the table set, with the books stacked more or less in piles on one end, and Harry and Louis’s chairs pushed together at the other.

“So,” Harry says as he settles into his chair. “You’re finally going to tell me? I get to know this masterful plan to make us rich?”

“Yes,” Louis says. “After we eat.”

“Louis!”

“Fine,” Louis huffs. “But I’m hungry. Hold please.” He stabs the chicken breast on his plate and brings the whole thing up to his mouth, taking the biggest bite that he can fit (and he can fit quite a bit if he does say so himself). Harry watches him with that ‘I can’t believe I married this behavior’ look that he gets sometimes as Louis chokes down the chicken (maybe too much garlic).

“Okay,” Louis says when his mouth is finally empty. “So you know how some restaurants and chefs have secret ingredients that they use in their recipes? Well I was trying to figure out  _ why _ because I think that’s ridiculous, and it turns out it’s because recipes can’t be copyrighted!”

“Is that right,” Harry says, sounding more like he’s just humouring Louis at this point. Louis is fine with this, really. Their marriage is built on shit like this.

“It is! So  _ that _ means that all these cookbooks? Free recipes!” He motions around them to the piles while stuffing another large bite of chicken in his mouth. “Th’fo’,” he says, before having to pause lest the chicken fall out. “I’ve been writing a program all day that will take all  _ these _ amazing recipes-”

“I wouldn’t call  _ 1000 Things to do With Ramen _ amazing recipes-”

“And I’m going to find the perfect algorithm to make new ones!”

He looks at Harry with excitement. Harry looks back at him.

“You’re going to… Louis.” Harry lets out a sigh. Oh no. What has Louis miscalculated? “Louis, I hate to tell you this, but that already exists.”

Louis frowns. “What? No it doesn’t, I would have heard about it.”

“Louis, for someone with a degree in computer engineering, you don’t get on the internet a lot.” Harry is smiling in that way that he does when he’s trying not to look overly fond and failing miserably.

“What?” Louis pulls his computer over to him and opens up Google. “Shit. Fuck. I can’t believe this. This was just, like, this year! I was so fucking close. If I had just had this plan a few  _ months _ ago, we’d be the rich ones, not them!”

Harry rolls his eyes and scoots his chair closer to Louis so that their shoulders and thighs are touching. “Louis,” he says. “I don’t think they’re rich. Try reading one of those recipes.”

Louis scans the page. “Ingredients… Lemon, chocolate chips… bone  _ or _ white bread? What the fuck?” 

He keeps reading. The recipe looks normal until he actually reads it.

“This is… bad,” he finally says.

“It is,” Harry agrees.

“They’re not rich,” Louis says.

“Certainly not from that,” Harry agrees. “And they’ve been working on that algorithm for a year at least at this point.”

Louis hangs his head. “I really wanted this to be the thing that works,” he says. 

Harry puts his arm around him. “I know,” he says. “Although I’m not sure  _ why. _ We have great jobs. We have a flat. We have each other.”

“I mean, yeah…” Louis concedes. “But I want to give you more than that, you know? I want to give you a house with a yard and summers in Barbados and steak every week.”

Harry’s face goes soft. He turns so that he can wrap both his arms around Louis’s shoulders, and presses a gentle kiss to his ear, that makes Louis jump. It  _ always _ makes Louis jump. “I don’t need any of that,” he says. “I have  _ you. _ I have a home with the most important person in the world. I have an intense fear that we are going to accrue hundreds of pounds of fines from these library books when you inevitably spill things on them. I have everything I need.”

Louis slumps against Harry. “This is probably a good time to mention that it started raining while I was walking back and we might get billed for a few damaged books.”

He can feel Harry trying to hold in a laugh, the arms around him shaking ever so slightly, and then another kiss, this one on his forehead. 

“I’ll take them back tomorrow,” Harry tells him. “And pay the fines, since  _ I’m _ the one who actually uses the library. You’ll just have to find… other ways to make it up to me.”

“I can do that,” Louis says. “I found a great recipe I’m going to try out for chicken wrapped in parma ham stuffed with mozzarella.”

“Wasn’t what I was thinking but we’ll go with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this all around the idea of [this post](http://victoriansponge.tumblr.com/post/158920407090/the-neural-network-has-weird-ideas-about-what) that was going around on tumblr for a while, although after googling it looks like there is actually a cookbook coming out that's been made from algorithms? So like, ignore that. This is a historical fic. Historical like from 2014, we'll say, before that cookbook existed.
> 
> Anyway! I'm [LondonFoginaCup](londonfoginacup.tumblr.com) on tumblr! Come say hi! Tell me to write something less fluffy next time! And if you liked this work you can reblog my fic post [here!](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/159717708249/the-futures-in-our-hands)


End file.
